Stray Scroll
by MetaXoul
Summary: An original cast of varied individuals decide to roam and travel Neo-Skyrim as the lost only can, solving the problems they come across for coin or supplies. On their travels they discover allies and enemies, and before long the scope of the group's influence grows. However, with fame comes danger, and certain factions will desire to either end or befriend these travelers.
1. Chapter 1

Mallory was not a fan of the warm friction coming from the leather bindings on her chafed wrists as they rubbed onto her skin, or the feeling of the scratchy texture of her roughspun tunic and trousers on her brisk body. The wooden floor-boards of the cart agitated the soft undersides of her feet, which were wrapped in dirty strips of clothe. Mallory's fair skin was lightly shaded with tan tones, making her skin glow. The Imperial female was in her mid 20s, was close to average height for her race, and possessed a trim figure with modest curves. Her black hair was cropped to a medium, thick fashion, with messy spikes near her scalp. Produced from a permanent alchemical experiment with dyes from her youth, a part of Mallory's hair above her forehead was bright green instead of the rich black. Her lips were lighter in shade to her skin pigmentation and had a touch of pink for color, her upper lip being slightly darker in color than her lower lip. The contour of her nose and shape of her almond-shaped and bold eyes complimented her attractive facial features. Mallory's blue irises were emphasized by her eyeliner, and a faint flush of light brown could be observed on her cheeks. The woman looked over to the other prisoners within the Imperial cart. There were a total of four in her own cart, with an entire squad of uniformed Stormcloaks in the cart following her own. Mallory turned her attention to the quiet, reserved Orsimer woman seated in front of her.

The young woman possessed a very pale green and icy blue skin pigmentation touched with alabaster, a slender yet tough medium build of plump curves and strength, and a modest height for an Orsimer female. Her light-blue and rounded eyes harbored a sapphire spark of freezing intoxication, her slanted ears were keen, her nose peculiar as it was not snubbed nor pug-like but more delicate and narrowed. A short and luscious mouth of darker lips complimented with a pair of small, close-set tusks were on her a womanly, appealing face. The woman had hints of genetics which originated from evolved Men rather than the defined Orsimer accents when regarding her jawline and skull's bone structure. No facial feature was overpowering or unbalanced. There was a faint blush of pink on her cheeks, which was slightly covered over by war-paint. The young woman had pale white war-paint which went from her eyes down to the sides of her face and then down to her throat. The sides of her head were smoothly shaved, with silver-white hair on the crest of her head, becoming a long pony-tail at the back of her skull. The woman was remarkable to most Men had never observed an Orsimer appear so aesthetically similar to their own kind, the Beastfolk races being the obvious exception. The young woman was well educated, athletic, but seldom social or loquacious. On her torso was a thin red cloak used to obscure her naked upper body, and on her legs was a thick, baggy pair of dark-blue trousers which ended in cuffs above her knees, as well as foot-rags similar to Mallory's own.

The third prisoner was a male Altmer, who appeared to be in his teenage years, Even when they are very young, a High Elf expresses his fresh exit out of adolescence while also maintaining a mature, grown appearance during his teen years. The teenager wore only a faded black robe and a pair of worn, white boots. His vulpine, handsome facial features seemed menacing as the High Elf put on a half-sneer and half-frown on his smooth face. The lateral angles of his face convened his bold youth and almost aristocratic aura. The sun cast solid rays of light onto the Atlmer's skin, which was green in color highlighted with a hue of gold. The Altmer was lean and although taller in stature than the other races, an Altmer was still an elf, who was built more fragile than a powerhouse like a Redguard or Nord. The youth's short and shaggy hair was blonde with dirty highlights. The youth's amber eyes appeared troubled, unlike the Orsimer's serene gaze or Mallory's inquisitive look.

The fourth prisoner within this cart was a Khajit female. Her fiery-brown fur possessed stripes and spots of silky black highlights or accents. The Khajit's dark-green and slant-shaped eyes sharply shot over to Mallory's gaze, her narrowed pupils rigid within her irises. The female cat-woman had what Mallory considered to be quite a domesticated structure, with a slender figure and small curves. A diagonal scar went down across the Khajit's nose, colored bright pink and contrasting against the flocculent texture of her delicately angled and curved head. Long ears with a single brass earring in each and a few long lengths of wispy, scarlet locks of hair were on the Khajit's head. Some of her low hanging bangs were swept to one side of her face, which Mallory found appealing. The she-cat was garbed in her undergarments, linen bandages, and a thin tunic which barely covered her waist. Mallory could not distinguish what age this Khajit was, and was reluctant to converse with any member of a Beastfolk race like the Khajit girl.

"Oi, soldier. Why do we have to be bound?" Mallory questioned, leaning towards the cart's heavily armored legionnaire who was seated atop a palomino steed. The same horse was tugging along the cart Mallory and the others were seated in. The legionnaire, a bulky and dark-skinned man with a shaven head of hair and proportioned yet also brutish facial features, glanced back to Mallory and grunted a response.

"Don't want any sympathizers to try and botch up this prisoner transfer. Who knows if you lot are backing the savages. Now shut up, you."

Mallory narrowed her eyes and scoffed. She huddled her limbs closer to her core and shivered. The morning breeze was chilly, and due to the cloudy sky the warm sun could not shine that brightly upon Nirn. Mallory's outfit was quite ineffective against Skyrim's icy climate, but she wouldn't complain. Moving her eyes upwards to glance at the Orc, Mallory raised an eyebrow and exhaled out a frosty breath. Her attention was then drawn to the Altmer boy, who seemed to be swearing under his breath as he moved his hands about on top of his lap. The elf had shut his eyes, and would occasionally open them to glare at his blemished fingers and palms. Mallory closely examined the elf's hands, and realized that a few meager embers or flashes of fire were being manifested out of thin air.

"Are you trying to cast a spell?" Mallory inquired, genuinely interested in the young boy's work. Her mouth turned into a smirk as she went on observing the High Elf.

"W-what? Well, yes. Why do you care?" the boy responded in his Summerset accent, startled at first from Mallory's sudden question. The youth firmly placed his hands onto his knees and sat with a better posture, behaving as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

"Because I want some of that fire's heat, boy." Mallory laughed, scooting herself forward and gesturing for the elf to continue. The youth furrowed his brows and acted slightly flustered.

"N-no! Get your own flames." he whined.

"Shut up back there!" a masculine voice commanded. Mallory shot a glance full of malevolence over to the legionnaire. The man had refused to turn his head when he belted out his order.

"Not everyone has a furry, warm body like a Khajit's next to them, High Elf. Make a small flame now, I'm freezing. Mallory sternly spoke. She masked her pleading nature with a harmless jape, as if to lighten the small conflict. Hopefully this boy was not as pig-headed or stubborn as the teenage boys she grew up with. The Khajit turned her head over to the Altmer and twitched her mouth, remaining silent. However he eyes informed the boy that the flame's heat would be appreciated.

"Ugh...fine. Let me try. I'm not that magically adept as my par...never mind. Destruction magic is not my specialty, I prefer alteration or...uh, you get what I mean." The youth quietly exclaimed, taking care to safeguard himself from any disappointment from his peers. He was also wary of speaking loudly, and began to hush his magical words and soon spoke them within his mind's citadel of thought, as almost all witches and wizards do. The Altmer seemed to be displaying tremendous concentration, he was still young and inexperienced, and Mallory patiently waited to see if the boy's effort would pay off. The Altmer's effort was even noticed by the strange Orsimer woman, who titled her head and curiously looked on with the other females.

"Woah!" the youth blurted out, trembling as the accumulating embers became a vibrant, lively flame in a sudden flash and gentle roar. Although small, it basked the other's bare skin with heat. With a very foreign accent originating from regions of immense desert, the Khajit female whispered gratitude to the Altmer as she moved closer to the boy's hands. Mallory cracked a smile and sighed in relief as the heat waves rolled onto and embraced her stiff fingers and cold face.

"Hey, huh. Heh, would you...uh, look at that." the Altmer youth smugly remarked. His warm eyes were looking upon his accomplishment with a sense of pride as he smiled. When he noticed the Khajit's furry arms rub against his shoulder, he froze up and decided to slide away while keeping his hands where they were. The Orsimer raised her arms into the air and stretched, yawning as her body slightly shook. Relaxing, both the Orsimer and Mallory looked over to Helgen's gate. The Imperial convoy was steadily making it's way over to the stone walls and sturdy wooden gates of the hold. An Imperial soldier was observed on the walls, beneath a canopy. The fair-skinned legionnaire cupped his hands onto his mouth and bellowed out an announcement to the approaching Imperial convoy.

"General Tullius, sir! The Headsman is waiting!" he cried, a hint of a soldier's obedience was mixed in with a personal pleasure and anxiousness within the soldier's tone. Mallory looked over to her group, and noticed that a small affection for these strangers had grown on her.

"My name is Mallory. I'm from Cyrodiil. Got caught trying to cross the border. I'm a, uh, well I guess I'm a crook? Petty thievery, nothing Guild worthy. The conditions of which I was to be arrested were blown way out of proportion if you ask me. I guess trying to run from the law usually results in a situation like this, eh?" Mallory coyly spoke. She looked over to the Altmer and gestured with her head for him to speak. Darting his eyes left and right, the Altmer youth finally took in a sharp breath and carefully responded,

"My name is Zanevael. I...don't really wish to speak about how I exactly I arrived in a situation where I was to be bound and placed into a cart with...a petty criminal. I mean no offense, lady." Mallory raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, narrowing one eye as she waved her bound hands.

"Keep the fire going, High Elf, and no offense taken. I won't pry. Hmmph...what about you, Khajit?" Mmhm?"

Mallory had hesitated to speak with the Khajit, she was much more comfortable with speaking about the beast-woman rather than to her. The Khajit's ears twitched, and her tail seemed to jump. The young girl wouldn't look Mallory in the eyes, and the latter returned the sentiment.

"I...I was to help my uncle who was a part of a trade caravan in Skyrim. Of course a wandering Khajiti would be seen more as a thief than a lost soul to the Imperials. I was actually trying to make it down south to Cyrodiil but...I won't disclose much else. My name is Azhari. It is a pleasure to meet you all."

Azhari's voice was not harsh nor too feminine. It was gentle, but also possessed a power like Mallory's natural voice.

"Why the bandages, if you don't mind me asking, Khajit?" Zanevael questioned, the fire in his palms still lively and bright. The flames pulsed as if they had a heart-beat of their own, licking the air above them as the sticky perspiration on Zanevael's hands was turned to vapor.

"Wounds which have mostly healed over. A troll surprised the caravan one night and...eh, pardon me." Azhari replied, her voice solemn. Mallory felt that the girl's personality was venial enough to look over the vague information of her story.

After a moment, the entire party's eyes went over to the Orsimer. The Altmer youth looked to Mallory, implying that she should speak with the large woman first.

"Oi, Orc. You're quite strange looking, and I don't mean that with a negative connotation. What's your story?"

The convoy of prisoners split apart. The Stormcloaks headed off to the stone towers within Helgen, the ones past the inn. Mallory's group made it's way to the keep. The rabble of horses and soldiers drifted through the air like a hum. The sun was shining brighter in the sky as the clouds parted, and the breeze lightened up. The scent of Skyrim's natural aroma and earthy hints wafted into everyone's nostrils, along with the crisp air. Birds chirped in sporadic patterns, the horses snorted and trotted onto the cobbled ground, and yet the Orsimer did nothing to contribute to the hold's harmony. Looking over to Mallory, the female Orc expressed concern and concentration. Then, in a language completely foreign and so far from the common tongue that it sounded inhuman, the female replied back to Mallory in a tone of voice surprisingly light. Startled, all within the wagon save the Orc exchanged puzzled looks.

"Anyone else catch that?" Zanevael jokingly asked, looking up to the Orsimer. Mallory shook her head while the Khajit stared at the High Elf. The Orsimer smiled, her small tusks were displayed as her lips formed a happy shape. Mallory gently chuckled, locking eyes with the Orsimer woman to inquire,

"Have a name?"

For a moment, the Orsimer woman refused to speak. When she did, it was an unintelligible remark accompanied with a shrug.

"When we were being loaded into the carts, I heard a soldier call her 'Wisp' because of her skin and white hair. Fitting nickname, I mean she does share a similarity with a Wispmother when regarding color pallets." Zanevael informatively remarked, nodding as he stated his mind.

"I see you still have much to learn about women, Elf. Don't compare them to monsters, for one thing...but Wisp is a nice name. How about it, Orc? Like it?"

The Orsimer curled her lips into a smirk, which became a grin when she took a moment to ponder over her nickname, displaying her tusks as she smiled.

"I believe that's a yes."

Helgen was lively, as soldiers and villager alike moved about while the horse-drawn carts and marching legionnaires made their way past stone arches and towards the Imperial keep. Skyrim had recently experienced a sudden influx of immigration, as tales of heroes slaying entire bandit groups and leaving riches within hideouts or caves sparked hundreds to settle and explore. Most was true of these tales, as the occasional adventurer would accept a bounty and travel with a group in order to eliminate the small to moderate bandit clans within Skyrim. This aura of heroism inspired entire groups to mobilize. Forts were soon assaulted and claimed by private mercenary groups or factions, and settlers began to construct homes near these strongholds, relying on the protection of the governing lord or prominent faction for support or guidance. Cities and villages experienced increased travelers and settlers from a radiant variety of races, who had learned that the gloomy atmosphere of war within the country had died down as the Legion gained an edge over the rebels over the course of time. It seemed as if the great losses attributed to the bloody conflicts of the past were resulting in a phase of economic expansion and immigration. Pockets of fierce rebellion and discrimination existed within certain regions of Skyrim. The East was prominently backing the Stormcloaks as the West relied on the Empire and supported them in turn.

The common-folk of Helgen watched on from afar as the Stormcloaks were led to the towers located in front of the keep's courtyard. The harmonious sounds of chirping birds, trotting horses, socializing soldiers and common folk, and the whistle of the breeze fused with Helgen's aroma of odors such as the stone and wood or old metal along with the smell of cold mud and trees. The soldier leading Mallory's cart unhorses himself and landed onto earth with a heavy clinking sound. Patting his horse, the soldier walked over to the back of the cart and glared at the prisoners.

"All of you, off to the keep. We'll get you situated, and hopefully you can all leave soon. Until then, you'll be treated like the rest of the scum or lost the Legion manages to attract when we're off on an operation. No questions. Now, get off the cart, one at a time." the soldier gruffly commanded.

Mallory was the first to stand. She looked over to the younger prisoners and then glanced at Wisp. Stepping forward, Mallory hopped off of the cart and landed onto the cold ground. Level height with the armored soldier, Mallory kept her eyes down as a sparse perimeter of guards began to line up near the cart. The fortified keep appeared strong and imposing, and Mallory wondered if the inside of the construct was warm. Soon, all of her group were lined up behind her, with Wisp at the rear. The dark-skinned soldier peeked over at the execution occurring near-by, but quickly turned away with a scowl. He gestured for the prisoners to follow, and they moved out in a single-line towards the keep's main entrance. The thick doors swung open, and the keep's masonry was witnessed from the inside firsthand by the bound group. A feeling of disappointing curiosity was itching within Mallory's mind. She had been intrigued by the cart of dreary Stormcloaks off to their deaths. From what she had heard down south, Ulfric Stormcloak was the one who orchestrated the massive rebellion going on within Skyrim. If he were to die now, what would this mean for the country's future? Mallory desired to be a part of history, and exhaled in disappointment as she walked inside of the keep, entering a spacious room with a portcullis doorway at one side and a cage-door on the other. A huge bust of a great elk stared down at the group from high on the cobbled stone ceiling. The bust's frozen expression seemed unnatural, yet it did provide an air of mortal dominion within the atmosphere, as trophies often did.

"Follow me. We're off to the dungeon for now. You'll receive some food and water, as well as a place to sleep. It'll take some time with the execution and all, but the commander will eventually get to you...eventually." the soldier announced.

"Pfft. What?!" Zanevael quietly spat out, bewildered and afraid. Mallory rolled her eyes and glanced back to the boy with a chilly look. The faint smells of old carpeting and melting wax wafted into everyone's nostrils as they moved.

"Shut it, elf. Maybe the commander will display clemency since you're so young and all...and you're a damn Altmer. For the rest of you, a criminal and a Khajit deserve to stay in the dungeon. I don't care what the commander says. And as for you, Orc? Well..."

The soldier took one look at Wisp's stern expression and stiffened up. He turned away, grumbling under his breath as he approached the guard sentry stationed at the cage door. Wiping his finger-tips down across the bottom half of his face, the soldier sighed and nodded to the guard.

"We've got folk need jailing. Commander'll be down to figure out what to do with them later."

"I heard that those Stormcloak dogs are getting what's been coming to them right now?" the other responded. He seemed to be a Breton, short of stature and bearded yet also built. He appeared roguish to Mallory, who compared the uniformed soldier to the profile of a brigand.

"Funny, I heard that too. Just open the door."

The sentry was displeased with his comrade's attitude, and furrowed his brows while frowning in response. Taking out a ring of keys, the guard unlocked the door, the black iron swung and slightly squealed as the guard pushed it away from him and gestured for the others to enter with an suspicious persona expressed through his eyes.

"Keep in line and stay quick. Try to run, and you'll get a sword through the chest. Who knows, maybe old Sodvar will prefer maiming you instead?" the guard spoke, warning the prisoners as he cracked a devilish smile in their direction.

"I've got it handled." the dark-skinned legionnaire sharply announced, directing his statement to the guard.

"This Sodvar won't really do that, right?" Zanevael quietly whispered, alarmed. Mallory clicked her tongue, looked back to the Altmer and shook her head.

"Grow a backbone, Elf. It's just a bluff."

Passing through the torture chamber was a chilling, disgusting experience. A hooded, aged soldier was seated on a chair, reading from a book as the legionnaire and his prisoners entered the room. Shackled skeletons were displayed simply for the sake of instilling fear into the prisoners. There was a very ill looking mage in a cage, lying onto the ground and clutching his body as he weakly breathed in a gravely voice.

"Who are these?" the hooded soldier questioned, ascending to his feet and placing his hands ton his hips. There was another soldier in a cage on the far side of the room, near the back. Leaning onto the counter, the tanned and balding soldier scanned the prisoners and nodded to his comrade. The soldier leading the prisoners looked back to his group and gestured for them to head to the cage.

"Just some folk need jailing is all, Sodvar. Vfordin, get them documented...what's wrong with the mage?"

Sodvar approached the soldier and leaned in close, smiling with his crooked teeth as his face wrinkled into an expression of wily happiness.

"Dehydrated among other things. Refuses to fess up on some war crime or the other. Truthfully, I'm not even told what they did wrong. They expect a confession, and I'm in charge of getting one out of these fools." he whispered, his tone smug. The soldier grunted in response, and exited the torture chamber without a word.

Mallory, Zanevael, Azhari, and Wisp moved over to the caged area within the room. The candle light cast apricot glows onto the stone walls, and an aged scent of old fabric hung in the room. Empty cages were located within the room painting a gloomy atmosphere along with bthe congealed blood splattering located on the floor or the old shackles attached to the walls. Vfordin snorted and took out several pieces of paper as well as a quill accompanied by an inkwell. He shot over an uninterested look over to Mallory as he looked through the iron bars of the cage, flickering candles located on the wall behind him.

"Name, race, and age. Goes for all of you." he hoarsely ordered. One by one, the group finished documenting themselves and lines up against the stone wall on the far side of the room.

When Wisp stepped up, Vfordin's eyes widened and he gave her a queer look over. He raised a bushy eyebrow and gruffly asked for her name. Staying silent, Wisp simply looked over to the man, her blanket still draped over her body.

"She can't speak the common tongue." Mallory informatively stated, leaning against the wall. Sodvar spat onto the carpeting and crossed his arms over his chest after shooting a cold stare over to Mallory.

"If she can't speak for herself, just put anything down Vfordin. As for the rest, follow me to your new homes."

Sodvar used an iron dagger to cut the binds of all the prisoners. Cackling, Sodvar wickedly smiled as the line of prisoners moved towards the cells. Locking each individual within their own cell, Sodvar waltzed off, his voice echoing through the dark corridor as he called for Vfordin to ready a bucket of water as well as the torture kit. Settling herself down into the damp hay and cold stone floor of her cell, Mallory put her palm to her hair and touched the permanently green follicles on her head. Zanevael rushed forwards to his cell door and desperately looked about, grasping the bars of his cell door with both of his hands.

"When are we going to get out? What's going to happen to us?" he frantically asked, looking to Mallory's cell. The woman was nestled up in the back of her cell, resting on her bottom and leaning against the wall. Similarly, Wisp and Azhari were seated onto the floors of their cells.

"Depends. I'm guessing this is your first time in a cell?" Mallory coyly asked the youth with an air of experience. He tightened his lips and turned away, exhaling in exasperation.

"Anyone know how to pick a lock?" Mallory cried. After a moment of hesitation, Azhari responded.

"I can. I'm only an apprentice, however."

"Ah, of course the cat. Figures." Mallory mumbled under her breath. The stench of her cell was tolerable, but unpleasant. The stillness of the air added to the dreary mood of the chambers. Mallory had heard stories of the Imperial torture rooms, but never expected to be so near to them. Within a half hour or so, the silence was broken by frantic footsteps.

Boots smacked against the ground as a lightly armored legionnaire sprinted down the corridor. The young woman was fair-skinned in complexion, and possessed athletic legs and modest curves. Her face was contoured and appealing, with round dark-blue eyes and a very faint tone of red on her cheeks. Once lengthy and flowing, the woman's hair was reduced to a medium length yet curly and groomed style, with lightly twisted and short bangs located on the sides of her face. She had an imperial blade and light shield in her hands, and looked tense. In a Nordic accent, the woman furrowed her thin brows and sheathed her blade within it's scabbard.

"Get up! The Legion is evacuating the keep, which includes you scum. Try anything crafty and I'll run you through. Even if you do manage to make it past me, remember that you're in a professional army's stronghold. No one is going to just let you saunter through unharmed if you escape."

"Why're we evacuating? What's going on?!" Zanevael cried, his voice shaky and eyes wide. The soldier simply sneered at him and shook her head, appearing disturbed as she opened his cage.

"You don't want to know the details, Elf." she replied. The others doors were unlocked with haste, and the prisoners were soon following the woman back into the torture chamber.

"Gods I hope the General is okay." Mallory heard the soldier whisper. Puzzled, Mallory and the others began to breathe harder as they sprinted up the stone stairs. As they approached the cage door which lead into the entrance room of the keep, a shriek was heard and a blast of flames erupted out of the doorway. Azhari seemed to jump in fright and then crouched low. The soldier and Wisp readied themselves in a battle stance while Mallory and Zanevael stared in shock. The group of prisoners and the legionnaire watched in horror as a flaming soldier's ragdoll-like corpse flew through the open doorway and smashed into the wall.

The skin and flesh of his body had been charred or burned, almost liquefied by the intensity of the magical flames which had slain him. More sounds were coming from the room, noises of metal clanging against armor or flesh as well as the battle cries of combatants and the mystical cracks of spellcraft. Someone choked on their final cry of death, gargling blood within their throat as they fell forwards onto the doorway. Garbed in black clothing and possessing pale skin, the vampire male ceased to move. Mallory followed the female soldier as she ran to the doorway, the sounds of battle had died down over last few moments. Standing amid crumpled and bloody bodies of legionnaires and vampires as well as their brigand thralls, was the legionnaire who had led Mallory and her group into the keep in the first place. There was blood smeared on his dark-skinned forehead, as well as his blade. Panting, the legionnaire sharply turned himself towards the others, holding his sword as if he was going to block an attack. Relaxing his stance after identifying the others, the legionnaire grunted and nodded his head.

"Good, you have the prisoners. Take them to the soldier's quarters and arm them! We are leaving." he ordered.

"Sir, they are criminals!" the female responded, looking down to the dead and losing some color from her face.

"It matters not who they are Quaestor! Helgen is a bloody war zone outside. What's the point of escaping with our lives if we don't have sufficient men to protect our flanks and rear? Now go!"

"Yes sir!"

"Be careful. A group of auxiliaries were defending the entrance to the soldier's quarters, and last we saw was them almost being overwhelmed. Get the gear and find me in the courtyard. The Legion is abandoning Helgen."


	2. Chapter 2

Hurriedly, the group scrambled over to the soldier's quarters while stepping over corpses, still warm and fresh from the slaughter. The sound of feet slapping against the ground filled in the empty silence of the keep. Passing under the raised portcullis doorway, the group turned a corner and approached their destination.

"Search the chests for any bits of armor or clothing you can find. Some one go back and take off whatever adequate quality armor you can from the dead. Grab a sword off the racks. Move quickly!" the female soldier demanded. She was standing in the center of the room, her blade drawn and eyes glaring at the entrance to the keep.

The chests within the soldier's quarters contained little to no uniforms, only similar looking clothing. Mallory wore dark-green trousers and a faded white shirt which smelled of a faint masculine musk. The Imperial woman had slid her feet into a pair of lesser quality light boots and tightened them onto her lower-leg, as well as equipping a pair of light arm guards onto her fore-arms and wrists. Wisp had donned a slightly under-sized shirt onto her torso, which clung onto her figure. Her hardened nipples could be seen from under the shirt's tight fabric, and the unbuttoned collar exposed a sliver of the skin on her neck. The Orc chose to have her baggy, heavy trousers remain on her lower-body, but also placed her feet into a pair of steel Imperial boots and wore steel Imperial bracers on her fore-arms. Azhari had stripped a dead thrall of her upper body armor, and was wearing the light hide along with a pair of gray trousers. On the Khajit's feet were a pair of leather boots, and her fore-arms were protected by leather bracers. Zanevael also possessed a pair of leather boots, and on his wrists were hide cuffs. All of the former-prisoners, save for Zanevael, had equipped themselves with an iron sword from the weapon racks. Wisp was quietly scanning her blade away from the others, while Mallory and Ahzari waited near the female legionnaire with their own blades drawn. Zanevael appeared pale and afraid, unlike the women who looked calm and prepared. The boy then steadied his pounding heart, and snatched an iron dagger and it's sheath from off a table. He attached the sheath onto the belt going around his waist, and then bravely approached the others. Wisp then walked over, spinning her blade by it's handle within her hand as she glared at the doorway.

"Khajit, was Damnagoras there when you were scavenging armor from the dead?" the legionnaire asked, her eyes focused on the thick wooden door several steps ahead of her.

"I was the only living thing in that room last I checked. The soldier was gone." Azhari responded, glancing down to the dangerous claws of her left hand as she spoke.

"Alright prisoners. Stay close to me. For reasons unknown, an entire raiding party of vampire filth and their thralls had paid Helgen a visit. The town would have surely been overwhelmed quickly if it weren't for the Legion. Outside, expect magical volleys flying in all directions, snarls and cries of battle, plenty of bloodshed and screaming, and much more." the legionnaire warned.

"And we have to cut through that soup to find one soldier?" Mallory scoffed, furrowing her brows.

"You'd be surprised at how easy it is once you're actually a part of the fighting."

"Um, if y-you'd like, you can take cover behind me when we're moving. I know an effective ward spell." Zanevael timidly spoke up.

"Good. Take point then." Mallory stated, gesturing for the boy to move up.

"Uh, w-what?!" the Altmer youth blubbered out.

"Move it, Elf. It's your duty as a man. Besides, we'll drag you behind us when see you faltering." the legionnaire encouraged.

Within a sudden moment of horror, the doorway to the keep was smashed open. The thick doors swung wide open, and a small party of men and women charged into the room, spooking Mallory and her group. Obviously thralls, the lightly armored and blood-stained fighters were mainly composed of the races of Men with a single Dunmer in their group. Wielding blades of steel and iron, axes and maxes, and even a steel warhammer, the group rushed forwards with a murderous intent towards Mallory and the others. The legionnaire, Wisp, and Mallory formed a front line of sorts and blocked extremely violent strikes with extreme effort using their own swords. Azhari cooperated with Mallory to overtake a thrall wielding an iron mace, and the Khajit's iron blade was thrust into the well-built Nord's gut. Wisp side-stepped a slash and then blocked a swipe of an axe. She kicked a man backwards and then punched the thrall wielding the warhammer directly into the man's jaw. Following up her strike, the Orc spun around and sliced a thrall's face with a vertical slash, then stabbed the same thrall into the chest and forced the defeated warrior to to the ground. Zanevael stood back and watched in awe, terrified as blood splattered onto his face and clothing. He then formed a malicious sneer and charged at a thrall who was about to ambush Azhari as she was pulling her blade from the body of a corpse. Forcing the knife into the man's abdomen, Zanevael grunted and continually stabbed the man, and then shoved the dead thrall onto the floor. Azhari nodded her head in gratitude towards the boy, who accompanied the Altmer youth to tackle the remaining couple of thralls. The legionnaire struck a lethal blow to the shoulder of a female thrall, who struck back with a swipe of her axe. Wisp appeared behind the wounded thrall, and cut the woman's calves. The thrall's comrade was effectively driving Mallory neared towards him as he blocked her strikes. Identifying an opening within Mallory's assault, the thrall swung his sword to strike her arm. Azhari knocked the sword away with her blade, and Mallory then finished the man off with stab to the heart.

"By the Gods, get a move on!" the legionnaire shouted. The entire group sprang forth into the courtyard, visually disturbed by the gore gleaming under the sunlight and chilled by Skyrim's icy climate as they began to run through the bloody space.

Victims of the vampires and their thralls laid in bloody pools onto the floor. There was an inequality of vampire bodies among the dead, however the corpses of thralls were plenty. Mallory noticed cadavers of villagers and legionnaires farther away from the keep. Most faces of the dead were not serene, none possessed that popular slight smile of rest. Their faces were twisted into cold fright. Yelling and shrieking could be heard crudely harmonizing with the clangs of metal and the whinnies of horses. Cries of pain and anguish, as well as horror, ran through Helgen as the remaining soldiers attempted to safeguard escaping townsfolk and wounded. Imperial soldiers were seen firing spells and arrows from the battlements around the keep's courtyard. Wrestling with a vampire on the floor was Damnagoras, the soldier which had led Mallory and the others to the keep earlier. The dark-skinned man rolled onto the vampire, punched the pale man in the throat, and then plunged a steel dagger into the vampire's heart. Screaming, the vampire clawed at Damnagoras' face as he gnashed his teeth, baring his bloody fangs. Soon the vampire ceased his motions, and laid limp onto the cobbled earth. Arrows chased after fleeing soldiers, and Damnagoras stood up and snatched an imperial blade from the floor. Surprisingly, the legionnaire ran towards the direction from which the magic was being cast, sheathing his dagger as he stumbled away.

"What is that bloody oaf doing?! Let's go. We have to rescue him! Elf, up front."

"We can escape now!" Mallory announced. The legionnaire pointed her blade at the woman and gave her a cold stare.

"You can get your freedom later. For now, we follow my orders!" she commanded, wild-eyed and flushed in rage. A dribble of wet blood trickled down her forehead and fell onto the ground as a bead of scarlet.

"Ugh, fine." Mallory sighed.

Mallory grabbed an iron shield from the ground and tossed it over to Zanevael, who crouched low and put the shield up in front of him. Wisp exchanged her bloody iron blade for a steel sword, and picked up a heavy Imperial shield from the battleground. Azhari dropped her sword and scavenged two steel daggers and their scabbards from the dead. Mallory picked up an iron war-axe and an Imperial sword, and dual-wielded weapons similar to Azhari. Compacting together, the group ran off towards Damnagoras' suspected location. Frightened villagers and injured soldiers passed by the group, which headed in the direction of the towers. The horse-carts were splintered from the impact of weapons and arrows, and had mud and blood spattered upon them. Zanevael's ward collapsed as a powerful ball of fire smashed into the magical shield. He was pulled back, and Wisp soon took point with her own sturdy shield. Azhari rolled away from the group and nimbly threw a dagger at the Bosmer vampire casting offensive spells at the approaching group. Spinning within the air, the blade pierced the woman's chest and sent her slowly reeling back onto the floor, dead. Crouching near a wagon in order to avoid the archer fire coming from above was Damnagoras, who gestured for the others to gather around him.

"Sir! Reporting." the female legionnaire yelled. The group huddled behind the cart, crouched low and monitoring their flanks and rear while the legionnaires conversed.

"Good to see you made it Quaestor. Listen up soldier, the rest of you as well. We have archers along the battlements supporting townsfolk and wounded who are leaving the town via the gates to the left of the keep. The raiding party entered the town from the other gates the General's forces came in earlier. That area has been completely over-run, and we have a line of men defending the region in front of the Imperial guardhouse. The vampires have set up thralls up on the towers, who are sniping at fleeing villagers. To our right is a smaller exit out of Helgen and a broken tower. We can lead survivors away from the exposed gates and towards this other exit, the thing is that those damn archers up in our towers will have ripe targets. Clear out these towers and silence those archers while I move through the courtyard and draw survivors towards the archway behind us. The archers stationed on the keep's battlements will provide covering fire for me, and hopefully they'll realize that the broken tower near the exit is a prime area to set up a few snipers. Based on what I know, General Tullius escaped along with the Thalmor ambassadors early on. Any of these bastards get past the archways and into the courtyard once again, and we're done for, you hear me?"

"Yes sir!" the female legionnaire responded. The thatch and hay roofs of the town's homes were burning away, along with the wooden construction of many of the buildings save for the stone masonry. The exact amount of invaders which the vampire raiding party had possessed was unclear, but they were fearsome and large in magnitude based off of what Mallory had observed. More arrows pelted the carts, and Mallory's party waited for a break in the fire to make a run for the towers. Azhari and the legionnaire went to the left tower while Wisp, Mallory, and Zanevael moved to the right. Damnagoras mumbled a prayer and sprinted off past the archway as bowstrings thrummed and arrow shafts whizzed through the air.

The door of Mallory's tower had already been open, and inside were Stormcloak corpses as well as dead thralls. Climbing the stone steps up to the roof of the tower, Mallory and Wisp led the way as Zanevael lagged behind them. The trio reached the roof of the stone tower and observed a duo of archers notching and loosing arrows at the soldiers lining the battlements. Wisp sprinted forwards and tackled one off of the tower, while Mallory slashed at the other thrall's legs and then pierced downwards into the woman's lightly armored back. Across from them was the sight of the legionnaire blocking strikes from a thrall, who did not see Azhari creep up behind him and cut his throat open. Waving at each other, the two groups went down the tower and observed ragged looking soldiers use the smaller exit to escape Helgen. Archers ran over the archways and moved to the broken tower, and began to whittle away the oncoming party of vampires heading past the inn. Along with them were fearsome black hounds with disturbing faces and large collars, charging towards Mallory's group with a ferocious hunger. One of these death hounds whined as it was pierced by several steel-tipped arrows, crumpling to the floor while it's masters and kin ran past. With a terrific cry, the legionnaire ran forwards to meet the charging vampires in a zealous passion. Pumped full of adrenaline and courage, Mallory and the others also ran forwards as archers supported them from behind. The last of the wounded made it out of Helgen safely as the remaining legionnaires and former prisoners bitterly combated the raiding party's forces.

Mallory, Wisp, and the legionnaire were the most proactive in melee combat. Kicking, slashing, punching, shoving, thrusting, and tackling commenced when the two groups collided. Zanevael hung back, slightly ashamed at how how little combat magic he knew. It was not until Azhari was seen hoisted into the air by a sage-skinned Orsimer thrall wielding a steel war-pick, that the mage unleashed his potential. Zanevael belted out a furious yell and reached out for the Khajit girl. The thrall looked over to the Altmer youth, who's palm was directly facing the man's head. A flash of fire seemed to spring up out of nowhere from within Zanevael's palm. With a vicious roar, a gout of searing flames were blasted into the thrall's face, melting the Orc's skin and eyes as he shrieked in agony. Azhari fell back, horrified as Zanevael snarled at the thrall while firing his gout of flame. The young man panted and looked over to the wide-eyed Khajit when he was finished, drained of magicka and flustered. He lent her a hand and helped her to her feet, enjoying the soft fur of her hand onto his skin. Once more she nodded in appreciation, and the Altmer smiled meekly in return. Suddenly Zanevael was pushed forwards, and he turned around to see Mallory's back. The woman glanced back to the boy, shocking him with a locked gaze of hate. The gaze relaxed when it beheld the young man, and Mallory turned her head to face forwards. The vampires were trying to sustain themselves by using life draining spells and blood magic, however the arrow volleys from the soldier above were effective in stunting this effort. The death hounds were snapping their jaws and maws at the group and savagely attacking with frosty bites from their strong jaws. Mallory was pounced on and thrown to the ground by one of these dogs. She could feel her sleeve and bosom shiver as a deadly chill went through her torso. Wisp kicked the death hound off of the woman and slew the beast with a downwards plunge of her blade. Mallory went to her feet and brutally hacked away at a thrall, who was finished off by the woman when she stabbed into the man's chest. The vampires were forced backwards as volleys of arrows pierced into them and their servants were slain. Eventually, the last vampire fell in the blood-stained pool of his allies. The skirmish had been tedious, as dead thralls were revived by the vampire's conjuration magic. These zombies were now piles of mystical, cold ash on the ground. Panting, Mallory looked around to see if all of her group was accounted for. Their clothing had been torn and soiled, and their weapons were worn, but all were well.

"We have to go check on the other gateway." the female legionnaire declared in a wheezy voice. Wisp and Mallory were winded, and the others appeared exhausted.

"They're all most likely dead." Zanevael replied, looking to the others for support.

"You think I don't suspect that too, Elf?! We have to check anyways. We must support the line." the soldier spat back, wiping her brow and scratching her medium length blonde hair. Pointing with her blade towards the courtyard, the legionnaire proudly stood straight and bowed her head forwards.

"Is there even a line to hold?" Azhari wondered aloud.

"Move it out prisoners. You belong to the legion. Refuse, and those archers will slay you where you stand on my order."

Mallory shot the soldier a dirty look, but gestured for the others to follow her.

"This thirst will be the one to kill me, not archers." Azhari gently mumbled. The archers stationed at the broken tower began to move on the battlements, hustling over to the other archway. Mallory's group trudged through the courtyard with heavy steps, savoring the thirst-quenching water skins they scavenged from dead soldiers. When they reached the archway, the group was shocked into an awe.

Bloody, burned, or brutalized corpses were strewn about the area. Black smoke rushed into people's nostrils as burning, collapsed housing laid with the dead onto the blood-soaked stone and ground. Ash, either mystical or from the burning fires of the milieu, was scattered among the battle ground. Barely a defensive line, a trio of soldiers braved punishing spells and melee blows from a congregation of vampires. The Imperial soldiers were heavily armored and wielded thick shields, but were slow and would surely die if they decided to run. Within the line was Damnagoras, who glanced over to Mallory's group with hardened eyes. The soldier gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath, straining his voice as he bellowed,

"Don't just stand there!"

The archers on the battlements were dispatched quickly as fireballs and bolts of electricity were shot at them. Azhari noticed an Imperial bow land at her feet, as well as a charred quiver of steel arrows. She sheathed her steel dagger and picked the bow up, crouching as she shut an eye and notched an arrow. Zanevael went to her side to cast a ward spell, safeguarding the girl from the offensive spells firing towards Mallory's group. Wisp joined the line, grunting as ice spikes shattered against her shield, her arm becoming numb from the impact of electric bolts or arrows. The Quaestor followed her, picking up a corpse and using it to supplement her defense. The two women extended the line by adding two extra shields. There was only a handful of thralls physically assaulting the line of legionnaires, but they were a large concern for the soldiers. One by one, Azhari loosed her arrows and slew the thralls while their vampire masters took turns regaining magicka and loosing destruction spells at the line. Mallory ran over to a pile of charred lumber, careful not to touch the embers or searing wood as she took cover from the vampires. It was unfortunate, but the line broke despite it's reinforcement. One soldier was blasted backwards a few yards by a destruction spell. The gap was closed too late, as a massive volley of spells forced the line to disperse. Damnagoras, Wisp, and the Quaestor ran over to the gates, sprinting for their lives as spells flew past them. Azhari, Zanevael, and Mallory rushed away from the gruesome battle scene to their allies. Wisp and Damnagoras went for the gates and began to pull them together, shutting them away from the vampires who cackled when they observed their fleeing prey.

"The closest town from here is Riverwood! If the vampires have enough temerity to attack a fortified town like this, who says they haven't already razed or raided Riverwood?!" Damnagoras asked, frustrated and weary. The Quaestor put her hand to the soldier's armored shoulder.

"We need to leave. Let's head there anyway. Unless wherever these vampires came from has an army at hand, Helgen flushed a large amount of their forces. Their aim was control of the keep and the slaughter of Helgen's denizens, I don't think they'll hunt for survivors. C'mon!" she stated, running away from the others. The sun had set some, yet it was still daylight.

"Why...why did they attack during daylight hours? What made them want to attack a town garrisoned by Imperial troops?" Damnagoras wondered aloud. Mallory and her group followed the Quaestor, who slowed her gait.

"We can talk about that later, move it if you want to live!" she sharply cried, looking over to the doors which had shadows approaching. Within a moment, the entire group was off on the cobbled road, sprinting away from Helgen. Eventually they reached the road leading to Riverwood and in it's opposite direction was Falkreath. Slowing themselves to a halt, the group huddled near the river's coast to quench their thirst and clean themselves, wary of what was behind. Damnagoras and the Quaestor were speaking in mild tones, hushed from the others. After a moment the Quaestor saluted her superior officer, and the two legionnaires looked over to the ragged group.

"To be honest, I saw the woman who was supposed to pass judgement on you impaled by a few shards of ice back in Helgen, so her judgement will never come to pass. You are property of the Legion no more. The Quaestor and I both graciously thank you for your help. Please, accompany Quaestor Hreiva to Riverwood, and then to the safety of Whiterun. Meanwhile I will head West to Falkreath and inform the Jarl there of Helgen's plight. No doubt many survivors headed to Falkreath or Riverwood after escaping from that bloodbath." Damnagoras solemnly informed the others. Hreiva, the female legionnaire, put a hand to her chest and bowed her head to Mallory's group in gratitude.

"I would have most likely died if it weren't for you all. Rejoice in your freedom, but stay alert. No doubt you may all go your separate ways once you reach Riverwood or perhaps Whiterun. Until then, please accompany me on the road until we reach the village. The sun is setting, and who knows how many brigands or vampires Skyrim will pit at us in such an unwelcome period such as nightfall?"

Wisp was cleaning everyone's weapons, dipping her bare feet into the cold water of the winter. Mallory took a drink from her water-skin and looked over to Azhari and Zanevael. The two youngsters upheld a collected, brave composure but their eyes betrayed the trauma they had experienced to their mental constitution, being a part of the battle in Helgen. The group soon bid Damnagoras farewell, and they carefully began to hustle towards Riverwood.

"How're your wounds, Azhari? Are you bandages okay?" Zanevael questioned, concerned for his furry friend. The young girl looked over to the taller Altmer youth and gave him a curious look. Contemplating the boy, she responded back with a lively tone,

"Fortunately my wounds did not reopen during the fighting. My bandages are a bit old, but are fresher than any old rag."

"Oh, good. Good." Zanevael absentmindedly replied back.

"Perhaps the resident mage knows a healing spell?" Mallory quipped, looking back to the younger couple. Zanevael tightened his lips and seemed to pout.

"No. But that gives me incentive to go out of my way to learn it. Surely Riverwood contains some number of tomes or papers."

"I'm hungry." Mallory groaned. She leaned towards Hreiva and raised her brows, smiling at the woman as the legionnaire replied with a concerned expression. "You're treating us, right?"

Azhari's tail happily swayed back and forth as the group pressed on to Riverwood. Mallory, Wisp, and Hreiva made conversation while Zanevael and Azhari listened on. Despite Wisp's incapability to speak the common tongue, the Orc was surprisingly good at comprehending it, even if she did respond to a few words with her own exotic language. It was slow, but the group began to feel a tad bit more connected by the time they reached Riverwood.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the past decade the village of Riverwood had remained the same as it ever was. Trade between Whiterun and Helgen, as well as the self-sustainable nature of the Nordic village ensured it's survival in the recent years. An expansion of the town's economy had arrived with the influx of immigrants. Instead of muddy streets of cobbled dirt, a stone road had been laid out a few years ago by the Jarl. A few new faces had shown up as well, and Riverwood's meager defenses had grown. Instead of an open camp for the town's guards, the cottage near Gerdur's home was now used a small guardhouse instead of a home. An extra story had been added to the Sleeping Giant Inn, and there were a few new faces as well as familiar ones in the village. The blacksmith as well as the mill had remained as they had been. The flights of dragonflies and butterflies, the chirping of birds, the barking of an old dog, the mild clamor of socializing folk idly enjoying the pleasant day, all formed a harmony of gentleness which was a decent change from the chaotic pandemonium the village's most recent travelers had experienced.

The bumbling noises of the smelly chickens, and the steady hammering coming from the brawny blacksmith reached the group's ears as they headed for the guardhouse. While passing under the stone gateway leading into Riverwood, a Whiterun Hold guard has waved down to the tired group. Staying firmly rooted onto his walkway, the man could not help but follow the travelers as they headed for the guardhouse. The guard uniform had also changed some, now possessing shoulder pauldrons and additional leather protection on the joint regions of the limbs. The guards stationed sentry had a crossbow in their arms, with a satchel of simple bolts located on their lower back, their Imperial swords sheathed onto their waist.

"Hold. Your business?" a guard asked Hreiva, his head obscured by his helmet. A quiver of arrows was located on the man's lower back instead of a satchel of bolts, and an Imperial bow was seen strapped onto the man's back as well. The shield-bearing guard was almost of height with Hreiva and Zanevael, and Mallory deduced that the man was a Nord. His accent had also been a give-away.

"We have news for the captain of this post. News of Helgen, and the recent attack which destroyed the town." Hreiva firmly stated, glancing back to the others. Silent for a moment, the guard stepped aside and let the group into the house. The dried blood and smell of musky battle proved Hreiva's point, and a simple village guard was not going to go against a soldier.

Entering the homely guardhouse, the group observed a broad shouldered and bulky man seated behind a desk set on one side of the room, which was typically decorated with Nordic decor. The hearth had cooking meats and pots near it, and two beds were seen on the other end of the guardhouse along with a locked wooden chest. The guard seated at the table was helmet-less, and revealed his aged and bald face of masculine Nordic facial features to the party when he looked over to them. With a deep voice, the man stood up and examined the group, alarmed to see a Khajit among them, as well as a peculiar Orc.

"May I help you, ma'am?" the captain of the guard politely asked. Hreiva went over to the man and began to speak, her voice anxious to reveal the dark news.

"There's been a disaster. A massive vampire raiding party razed Helgen, slaughtering it's innocents and directly warring with the legionnaires stationed there. Unfortunately, we were overwhelmed and had to abandon the town. I fear the vampires might come after Riverwood next, as it lightly defended and the exact number of the vampire clan is unknown. Based off of what we fought at Helgen, the clan and it's thralls are dangerously large in number."

"Now hold on, ma'am. Vampires?! In the daylight?! You're telling me the Legion was kicked out of the Helgen by vampires?! This is-"

"It's true. We're surprised to not see any survivors. Surely the Legion would have herded the survivors to Riverwood, it was the closest village." Hreiva interjected, cutting the guard's frantic speech off. A gloomy aura was cast into the room, which smelled of spiced meats and ripe wine and was warmly cozy.

"We've had no soldiers or travelers aside from you folk today, to the best of my knowledge. I'm sorry, but this sounds ludicrous."

"A surviving soldier, my superior, went to inform the Jarl of Falkreath of the situation. Trust me, this is not a simple jest. Many lost their lives today, my group and I barely survived."

"Now who are these folk, then?" the man demanded to know, looking over to the shifty faces of Mallory's party.

"These are...travelers who were resting in Helgen when the Legion came in with Ulfric Stormcloak. Unfortunately, the madman's whereabouts are unknown." Hreiva responded, trying to redirect the conversation. Groaning in disappointment, the guard nodded his head and put his calloused hand to the rough stubble on his face.

"There's nae a reason to for me to deny you of your claims any longer, I mean look at the state of you. Although crazy, I'll believe the tale of monsters going bump in the daylight. I'll send a man to Whiterun, and another to Helgen to confirm the chaos."

"There is no need of that. I will inform the Jarl myself. Please, keep Riverwood's garrison at its full strength. I fear the vampires might target a ripe village such as this and overwhelm it much faster than they did to fortified Helgen." Hreiva bluntly replied.

"...If this turns out to be some cruel jape-"

"I assure, all of this is true. May the Gods watch over Riverwood. We shall leave for Whiterun in the morning, as the shrouded night may prove fatal."

The captain of the guard shook hands with Hreiva and headed out with the group, looking to the sky as if it would provide news of some ill omen or misfortune.

"Treat your maladies at the inn, seeing how none of you require medical attention. If you don't have the gold to rent room and fill your bellies, tell ol' Delphine to put it on me." the captain announced, observing Hreiva and the others head down to the stone road. The guard looked over to the door sentry, who straightened up his posture.

"Go notify the other guards to stay incredibly sharp. Riverwood is in danger." he ominously spoke, uncertain about the future.

Sauntering their way over to the Sleeping Giant Inn, Mallory's group were aware of the eyes which were following them. From the dog to the villagers, all of Riverwood seemed to sense something wrong with the coming of these peculiar travelers. Climbing the broad steps to the inn's entrance, and then entered the welcoming inn who's atmosphere was homely and social. A dashing bard drummed away at his instrument, swaying his body to the beat of his music while a drunk man sluggishly garbled out a few gibberish lyrics. A sullen looking man was wiping away at the counter with a small cloth, noticing the party arrive. Sweeping near the counter was an aged, blonde woman who was startled to see a legionnaire arrive with travelers bearing a mix of Imperial gear as equipment.

"Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn, how can I help ya'?" Delphine asked, trying to mask her suspicion with a friendly yet also indifferent tone. Hreiva turned to the others.

"Rent whatever rooms are available. I'm going to head to Whiterun now, I pray I can reach the city before nightfall. Take this gold, and remember to use the tab the captain of the guard spoke of. Listen...thank you for all you've done. I haven't seen finer civilians than you all." Hreiva said in a hushed tone. She turned around and approached Delphine after handing out a large sack of septims to Mallory.

"Barkeep, I'd like a pitcher of ice cold water. As for my friends, please see to their needs ma'am."

Delphine raised an eyebrow at Hreiva, who passed her in haste. Looking over to the group, Delphine did not bat an eye when she beheld Azhari and Wisp. Moving towards the small party, Delphine believed Mallory to be a sort of leader of the group, and directed her concerns with her.

"I'd imagine you'd like rooms for rent and some food? We'll cook it right up for you as you rest, or you could enjoy pickled items and warm or cold drink now." Delphine spoke, following her initial statements with conversation about the pricing of the rooms and the menu with Mallory.

"The captain said that, huh? Alright, well, spend big. Let me show you to your rooms, right this way."

After gulping down whatever water she could and ravenously devouring a rabbit leg, Hreiva purchased a few smoked, and salted provisions and went on her way after packing them into her traveler's pack almost any legionnaire carried. Hreiva nodded to Zanevael as she exited the inn, smiling to Azhari and Wisp before she left. Mallory and the soldier had exchanged a brief look of consideration before Hreiva had left.

Before leaving to their separate rooms, the group ordered some food and waited for it to be prepared for them at a bench and table located at a wooden wall. Wisp and Mallory sat next to the each other, with Wisp on the end of the bench and Mallory, Azhari and Zanevael following.

"You know what, I like you folk. And it's only because of my affection that I'm going to tell ya' this. The gold Hreiva gave us to share won't last forever, and sooner to later we're going to have to come up with our own coin. Let's ditch this gear at the trader, pool our resources and make it to a carriage near the city. From there, we can go our separate ways." Mallory announced, looking over to each group member as she spoke.

"Wh-, agh, I was, uh, going to head to the trader anyways and see if they have tomes. To be perfectly clear, I wouldn't feel right if I didn't help Azhari fix her self up. There weren't any usable potions in Helgen. Perhaps the alchemist in the city...?" Zanevael remarked, glancing over to the Khajit.

"I was going to head to the city and see if a trade caravan was there. Perhaps a relative or associate of my uncle will take me under their supervision." Azhari replied, examining the claw of her right index finger.

"Do you have a plan a plan, Wisp? Or at least an objective for the moment?" Mallory questioned, resting an elbow on the rough surface of the table and placing her chin onto her hand, leaning onto her arm as she looked to the Orc. The Orsimer woman contemplated Mallory's question for a moment, and then expressed merry embarrassment as her stomach let out a strong rumble.

"I guess that's her answer." Zanevael joked. The group chuckled together with the bard's music, enjoying the crackling of the cooking fires as their food was prepared.

"To be honest...I really don't know what I'm going to do." Mallory suddenly said after the moment of silence following the group's laughter. Mallory's eyes looked sad and uncertain, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"I can't go back to Cyrodiil. Crossing the border now to any other province seems like too much work, dangerous work too. Maybe I can start over in Skyrim? Who knows...maybe I'll just go back to being a flirtatious thief?"

"A life of crime is a lonely life." Azhari quietly quipped. Mallory looked over to the girl, and expressed slight contempt.

"It almost makes me ashamed, seeing how open you are about your history while mine is...unsuitable for public conversation." Zanevael solemnly spoke.

"If you don't want to share, then don't. Don't complain about not sharing...if that makes sense?" Mallory scoffed. The Altmer raised his eyes and nodded his head, exhaling slowly.

"I'm flattered that you would help me with my injuries, High Elf." Ahzari suddenly remarked. Zanevael stammered out a response, trying to sound like the sentiment was dutiful and gentlemanly.

"Elven chivalry, well would you look at that?" Mallory laughed.

Wisp impatiently pumped her leg, tapping the stone floor as she looked back to Delhpine cooking the food the group had ordered.

"Calm yourself, Wisp. We know how much of an appetite you got fighting...those...vampires." Mallory quietly said. The group looked to each other for a moment, sharing an invisible image of the horrors they had witnessed at Helgen.

"That was my first time genuinely...killing a man." Zanevael murmured, sinking into his seat as his face became pale and legs became restless.

"Me too." Azhari replied, looking down to her swaying feet, which were currently out of her boots.

"I've stabbed a man here and there in the past. As for my sword-fighting, well I used to watch these fighters duel each other in a small arena back from my childhood. I copied their movements and play fought invisible men or the trees and bushes with sticks or rods. I'm fortunate that I had practiced in my youth. I'm not surprised Wisp behaved like an angry troll with a battle-axe back there. I think all Orcs, even as one as strange as Wisp, have that aptitude for warfare. I tell ya, seeing her berserk and have a blood-rage induced killing spree was...chilling." Mallory confessed, resting her hands onto her lap as she examined Wisp's clean, white hair.

"My family trained me with the use of small blades, crafty fighting and such in Elsweyr." Azhari added. Zanevael looked over to the Khajit with a twinkle in his eyes.

"You were quite the roguish shadow cat, Azhari." the Altmer complimented, his thin lips turning into a small smirk.

"I, uh, never thanked you for saving me. That was an impressive flame you harnessed." the Khajit girl commended in response, her eyes going in all directions, sometimes staying onto the boy before swiftly flying off to observe some other aspect of the inn.

"I applaud you, Elf. You somehow managed to turn a puny fire into a gout of burning power. Imagine the consequences if you used that spell like you did when we were in the cart." Mallory stated, glancing back to Delphine, who was readying plates of sweet or flavorful meat, baked vegetables, and fluffy bread along with bottles of milk and tankards of water. None of the group was alcoholic or had ever drank any intoxicating drink.

"I thought I had seen any bloody horror imaginable, but when we fought those vampires in Helgen...by the Gods, what beastly evil like that has arrived in Skyrim?" Zanevael vaguely announced. Drawing the curiosity of the others, they chose not to pry and agreed with the youth.

"It was mayhem, it was. All those dead, and all those screams. I hear you don't need to get bitten to be inflicted with the virus." Mallory feverishly spat out, her tone one of rumor and gossip.

"No no, the infection does not work that way. There are cases where the blood magic spells they use do infect their victims, but that is after long exposure to the magic. Usually, the survivors are too drained of life and energy to fight off their vampiric aggressor or search for a way to cure themselves in the premature phase of the virus. There's even rumors of the virus jumping species and infecting horses, trolls, and even spiders-"

"I assure you, we have no spiders or any other vermin in this inn." Delphine laughed, setting down trays of food and drink onto the group's table. Initially startling the group, Delphine proved to be a welcome visitor as the starving party feasted on their meals in a jovial mood.

"If we're all heading to Whiterun anyways for some service or the other, let's just stick together. Safer to go in groups anyhow, I mean, the road to the city might have wild animals or thieves. Let's use the gold to get some supplies and the tab for this lavish feast." Mallory straightforwardly spoke. To her amusement, the others were eager to accept. It seemed that no one wanted to stray from the others too much despite their previous statement, Mallory included.

"Pardon me, is there a tub anywhere in the inn?" Mallory asked the innkeeper, who was busy stewing something within a kettle as she bobbed her head along with the bard's most recent melody, a tune from a lute.

"Not really, I'm afraid, Riverwood uses the river water for bathing or washing clothing. You know, that wouldn't be a bad investment for the inn now that you mention it." the woman announced aloud. The innkeeper looked over to the ceiling, which was the floor of the second level to the tavern. The nicer, more furnished rooms were upstairs.

"You know, we do stink. No matter, it's a requirement of this day and age to keep your filth along with your wits about you." Zanevael sighed, looking to Mallory and raising his brows. The woman bit into a fork full of salmon and then tore into her seasoned, grilled chicken breast. Chewing, Mallory shrugged and happily tapped the tips of her boots onto the floor in tune with the lute's lively melody.

Soon the evening came and Riverwood was shrouded by the dark save for the illumination of candles behind windows and Secunda. A single lamp post had been erected on the flattened stone road, and a guard went over and lit the lamp to provide illumination to the center road. Villagers were in their homes, save for the one guard patrolling the village while his comrades were keeping an eye out at the entrances to the village. Within his guardhouse, the captain was hastily penning away at paperwork with his quill and inkwell, the fear of an attack on Riverwood was keeping him tense. Occasionally he had personally ventured into the mountains to search for camps, or sent a patrolman out to the road leading to Falkreath and the Lake Ilinalta in order to expand the sense of security Riverwood felt despite being so scarcely defended in the past. Sipping from his tankard, the captain enjoyed his alcoholic mead which warmed his core and sent out a drowsy breath through from his big nostrils. Smacking his lips, the captain stood up and felt the flab of his abdomen from under his armored torso. Deciding to step up to his duty, the captain went to a small weapons rack located on the side of a cupboard, and armed himself with a steel mace. Putting his hand onto the handle of his Whiterun Hold shield, the captain of the guard exited the guardhouse and faced the helmeted sentry.

"Come with me. Be sure to bring a torch, we're going to do some scouting before the morning's arrival."

The captain of the guard bravely went off onto the mountain path, feeling the frisk of the chill as he climbed upwards. The breeze was gently blowing particles of snow off of the trees on the mountainous trail. Vanshing from the village's sight, the captain of the guard went farther up with his companion and went onto the well trodden dirt path leading to the wilderness. More darkness began to dawn upon the evening, and the guard had to relight his torch twice as he followed his captain diligently. It was not until the mid-afternoon of the next day, when a village guard stationed on the South gate witnessed a single man limp towards the village.

The man was outfitted in a torn, bloody guard uniform and appeared incredibly exhausted. Holding onto his bleeding, infected shoulder, the man began to groggily stumble left and right, until he collapsed. It was upon further inspection of the man's corpse, that the Riverwood guard identified the dead man due to the shoulder pauldrons which the captain normally had on his uniform. The still, cold face of the captain stared up at the guard, who felt an urge to look towards the direction of which the captain had arrived. A handful of hooded riders in dark, odd clothing were seen trotting towards Riverwood. One of the hooded riders, a female judging from the figure beneath the clothing, let loose of her reins and raised her pale hands into the air. Rising upwards, the guard placed a bolt into his crossbow and aimed at the riders, his legs shaking from fear.

"Halt!" the guard cried in a Nordic brogue. Refusing to yield to his request, the riders continued to approach the village. Snaps and sparks of electricity were seen on the woman's hands. The small cloud of lightning soon began to grow brighter and stronger. The wind tossed the woman's hood back to reveal her black hair and heavily vampiric facial features, which were expressing a maniacal lust for blood. The other riders unsheathed blades from the saddles of their muscular horses, which also seemed to appear unnatural and beastly.

The guard fired his bolt at a horse, piercing the beast within it's neck. Hot blood spewed out from the vampire horse's throat, however it continued to huff out strong breaths as it galloped forwards. The vampire woman allowed her lightning spell to become fully charged within her hands, and then fired a massive beam of electric rays at the guard. Flying backwards, the paralyzed man could not feel his entire torso burn away to reveal his blackened, charred skeleton. Like a cold, wet sack the man flew onto the stone road and skidded against the floor, leaving behind boiling blood and strips of burned flesh or clothing. Horrified, the villagers witnessing this scene pulled their ears away from their heads, having been frightened by the thunderous crack of sound which the vampire had released after firing her destruction spell.

The small group of vampires rushed into Riverwood, unhorsing themselves and casting blood magic as quickly as they could. Screams of horror and pain rang out through the village, doors were smashed open, throats were torn and spells were heard producing bangs or cracks as the lightly defended village succumbed to the dark forces assaulting and slaughtering it's inhabitants. The chickens were dashed across the ground, the old dog was run through by swords, people were pounced upon or withered away by the magic-wielding party of vile vampires. The birds refused to chirp as they flew off in supreme fear, and eventually flames caught hold of the incredibly flammable roofing of which the villages cottages were made of.

Meanwhile, after having traded with the village's trader and crossing the bridge leading to Whiterun, Mallory and her group approached the Honningbrew Meadery. Mallory's outfit consisted of her tight dark-green trousers, a comfortable belted tunic, her undergarments, a pair of iron boots, iron gauntlets, and simple hood which mages were accustom to enchanting. Wisp had on a pair of steel-cuffed boots, her dark blue and baggy trousers, and was wearing a cuirass not dissimilar to the type the city or town guards would don, the heavy clothe of the armor was dyed black however and the clothe did not go past her waistline as the guard uniforms normally would. Azhari was wearing her gray leggings and studded armor along with better quality leather boots and bracers, and a small cape of dark fur was observed over her shoulders and coming down to the middle of her back. Zanevael had purchased a set of clothing said to have belonged to an odd, masked Dunmer traveler hailing from Solstheim who sold his clothing to the trader a few years ago. The boots and gloves were of fine quality, and the trousers and robes had been dyed to a light blue hue instead of the faded maroon of which it had originally been colored. The Altmer found the bone-mold armor on the sleeve to be fascinating, and was eager to don the clothing onto his body. Each individual also purchased a traveler's satchel along with other popular adventuring gear.

After finishing their breakfast and using the river for their needs, the group had journeyed away from Riverwood and headed as a close unit to Whiterun. The fragrant, sweet smell of honey wafted into the group's nostrils as they walked. Pleased with the delightful aroma, the group continued on the road to the city, enjoying the sound of the rushing creek next to them along with the small chirps or buzzes of nature which Skyrim harbored. In the distance, the faint billowing columns of dark smoke could be observed in the general location of Riverwood.


	4. Chapter 4

Whiterun's aged stone walls had been reinforced and refurbished in the past decade, and the agricultural homesteads nestled at the city's borders had only grown to accommodate the prosperity of the Hold, who's pleasant plains and peace was a beacon to many immigrants. Humble, cozy cottages and gardens were now observed in the distance of the city's perimeter and near the larger farms of the plains area. It seemed as if the decent weather had drawn out the citizens who lived outside of the city, and put them in a jolly mood. Farmers silently mulled over the odd thought or two as they toiled away to the sound of playing children and chirping birds. Maidens of all likes were put picking flowers, people were working or enjoyed a break from their work, and healthy children sprang about the cobbled roads as guards swaggered by, patrolling the area as their comrades headed out to switch shifts with road patrolmen. As Mallory's group neared the very active, traffic heavy stables and battlements leading to Whiterun's grand gates, the lively and sunny space before them soon forced the group to assimilate with the foot traffic.

"Well, we're here. Behold my friends, the illustrious location where the finest of Skyrim's horses rest and eat: the stables. And not just any stables, no, the _Whiterun_ stables!" Mallory announced, gesturing over to the Nordic building just outside of the city's walls.

"Well...the carriage driver is nowhere to be found. Hopefully another will come soon." Zanevael remarked, placing his hands onto his hips as he looked over to the Western Watchtower, standing proudly in the distance as a stone monolith.

"It seems that the Khajit trading caravan is also absent. Tsst, this is annoying." Azhari complained, her sharp eyes darting about to the unfamiliar faces of the crowd and the dark stares which the guards seemed to be firing at her as they scanned the crowd.

"Lodging in the city is going to be troublesome. Let's...just explore the fine community to pass the time." Mallory suggested, painfully aware of the group's poverty or status of on the brink of being penniless .

This gentle hum of life within the group of diverse individuals and animals cast a united aura onto the crowd, leashed by the vigilant eyes of the city's guards. A tall female guard was observed examining the immigrants for contraband items and such, an enforcement the Thalmor were encouraging the Empire to adopt during the past few years as Stormcloak resistance diminished down to a fraction of what it had been. The vast majority of the people entering the city were single travelers, with a family or two possessing an infant or teenager along with them sprinkled in with the multicultural crowd. Wealthy travelers were near the stables, having their trading cargo unloaded while the lesser classes trudged forwards to the drawbridge under the stares of sentries.

"I don't know how long it was, but the Nords eventually starting letting the cats into their communities. Something about how certain guilds were raising a huge stink about the unethical treatment of their fine, furry members when the groups were taking respite in the cities. I don't know the details, but you have your natural liberties Azhari, don't let the prejudice get to you." Zanevael explained to the girl, concerned and confident. Glancing over to the Altmer with a puzzled expression, Azhari felt herself appreciate the young man's attitude.

"Leave the stealing to me, girl." Mallory joked, refusing to even look at the Khajit girl when she spat out her sarcastic comment. Mallory still appeared to harbor a racial animosity of some kind to the Khajit girl. Despite having grown up in Cyrodiil, a very tolerant nation, Mallory perspective towards the Khajit beastfolk was quite unpleasant.

"Oi, whoever's next step up to me." the Nord guard demanded in a clear, firm tone of voice. Noticing the woman's gaze from behind her helmet, Mallory motioned for the others to follow her. She headed under the battlements and over to the small, wooden bridge past the guard, moving cohesively with the slower traffic heading into the city rather than out. The bride had been created to perform as dry passage over the rocky, limpid stream of water discharged from the city's grates, but it was also a popular location for conversation between acquaintances and family, it served almost like a miniature landmark which symbolized a form of figurative doorway or transition. After a few moments, the group passed through the large, broad and thick open gates to the city and stepped forward to the arched stone bridge ahead of them.

The atmosphere was very busy, yet not as refreshing as the countryside. Faint music could be heard, as well as the constant, polite droning of city dwellers who went about their early evening business. To Mallory's immediate right was the blacksmith's shop. A mulatto skinned boy watched on in awe as a dark-skinned and brawny woman, his mother no less, toiled away at manufacturing sturdy and semi-transparent, extremely stylish glass armor. Ahead of them was a shop established upon on a small hill, and in the distance was the signs of a busy expanded city market.

The guard barracks were marked with both new and aged bounties and letters, and there seemed to be a few lazy guardsmen hanging around near the door to the barracks, while a pretended to stand watch on the city from his posting above the streets. Flashy banners and wooden signs swayed from the breeze, and the open condition of this city allowed for casual, easy-going foot traffic. The smell of game, alcohol, and sewage drifted in and out of the clean wind. The walls had been reinforced and straightened so as to prevent invaders from taking advantage of the downward curves on the walls' top edges. Everything seemed to breathe new, sturdier and better. In the distance was proud Dragonsreach as well as the noble district beneath it. The statue of Talos which had stood defiant and true in the plaza had been smashed asunder years ago and all that remained was a huge stone slab with an inscription written in ancient Nordic which seemingly no one understood or knew how it had gotten there. Jorrvaskr appeared like a tired, worn down giant nestled within his den. The Gildergreen Tree was vibrant and abundant in life, glowing gratuitously pink and emanating a slightly iridescent glow. The plaza served as popular location for rest, and many travelers had discovered themselves guided away from the rabble of the common district and off towards the location of the Temple of Kynareth and old Jorrvaskr simply due to the mortal appetite of going upwards.

"My my, what a pleasant place! I feel thirsty, and also I feel like spending my coin." Mallory confessed, admiring the unique Nord city, comparing it to her birthplace in Cyrrodil.

"Killing time does not require the expenditure of gold, milady." Zanevael remarked, sucking in a sudden exhale when he realized his sarcastic slip had not come out with the tone he wanted it to. Obviously amused, Mallory smirked at the boy and nodded her head.

"What flattery! Please, subject yourself to me in every way imaginable, it's obvious how much you adore me, boy." Mallory self-righteously laughed while putting her smallest finger to the side of her mouth, morphing her expression to appear vain, careless, and menacing.

"I-it was sarcasm, I tell you. I didn't mean it like I did...oh shut up." Zanevael spat out, rolling his eyes.

This exchange caught the attention of a worried looking man who had just strolled onto the main road leading to the market from the residential paths to the right. Clad in faded yellow and blue, the fair skinned Breton male had an unassuming, unremarkable face and short black hair and was of height with Mallory. The first person he beheld was Wisp, who was passionately admiring the Redguard woman forging away at the smithy, both silent and stern eyed. His gaze then fell upon a roguish looking Khajit appearing to be a hireling of either the appealing woman with the streak of green in her hair, to the very young Altmer clad in peculiar bone robes. It was only when the entire cast began moving as a group, did the man pass his judgement.

"Let me escort you to the apothecary, or perhaps the temple Azhari?" Zanevael politely suggested, stepping ahead of the girl and putting out a hand as if to direct her like a guide.

"Pardon me my elven son, may I please have a moment of your time my friends?" the Breton declared, his voice loud and friendly enough to be heard over the market murmur in the distance. Zanevael raised a brow to the man and stepped back, and Mallory put herself forwards to introduce herself.

"Depends. My name is Lillia, and you are?"

"Frijby Glantor, and do I have a proposition for you!"

For a moment, Mallory's group looked to each other and exchanged nonverbal messages. Mallory crossed her arms over her breasts and gestured with her head for the man to go on.

"Now see here my friends, I have a son who cannot wait to begin his life as a free blade for hire. You may be asking, why does a sane father like myself sound so enthusiastic about this?! Now, I understand the dangers that blade for hire lifestyle, but I can also be open-minded and acknowledge the tales my boy will have about his daring, bold accomplishments and feats."

After a moment Mallory replied with,

"I'm assuming your son feels completely prepared for the unpredictable future?"

"I have faith that my boy will be greater than the average adventurer Skyrim's cities churn out nowadays, but have one issue with his quest: His blade. I am an avid fan of enchanted weapons, swords especially, and cannot help but bequeath my boy my precious, most important blade. The name of this enchanted blade is _Excellence_."

"An odd, possibly even a misnomer of a title." Zanevael spoke, shrugging and waving his hand lazily in the air as he cracked a light smile.

"This blade was forged back when the Rift was being contended between the rebels and the Legion. Would you like to hear the history of this blade, it's simply fascinating. I'm surprised I was able to say that word right, to be honest." the man confessed, chuckling as he looked upon the group with eager eyes.

"Sounds interesting, please go on."

"Well you see Lillia, the Legion used to scout out ancient Nordic ruins and such in case the rebels were hiding in or around these sacred, fearsome crypts and tombs. After handling those dreadful zombies inside, y'know those ghastly Skyrim draugr minions we hear tales about, a platoon of legionnaires had returned to Solitude with a trove of pristine ancient weapons. For whatever reason, these blades were magically imbued with powerful enchantments, and were incredibly fine in quality despite all these ages. A wise, master blacksmith forged a longsword from the metals of a a couple of these blades. The result of his hard work was a wonderfully stylish sword touched with a hint of blue. Due to its superior crafting and blessed history as a weapon partly forged from the ancients, it was titled _Excellence_."

"Your son must be proud to come to own such a blade." Mallory half-heartedly remarked. The Breton titled his head back and gave a knowing smile, displaying none of his teeth and narrowing his eyes.

"The issue which arises is...I procured that certain blade through the use of a...broker of sorts, who managed to st- er, obtain that sword from his friend. That friend, a greedy and unhappy man, sent out his broker to acquire my blade back from my home. To the last of my knowledge, it remains in a camp...a bandit camp to be precise, one of those few which have been revived after the culling of brigands Skyrim experienced with it's revolution of quest-takers a decade or so ago, quite the peaceful time, good for the economy as well."

"So this is where we, the travelers who you assume are also adventurers, gladly accept your request to re-acquire this blade for...I'm assuming a large amount of septims?" Mallory questioned, glancing to Azhari with a wary look. The Khajit girl was the closest to her, and Mallory had preferred not to lock eyes with the beast-girl, but did so anyways without thinking.

"As expected of a seasoned group such as yourselves." the Breton lied, hoping that the woman in front of him would accept his offer. Mallory turned around and looked to her group, acknowledging the fact that they did not all work as one cohesive package, but shared the same interests. All seemed to express uncertain wariness, even quiet Wisp who glanced over to the blacksmith from time to time. With a snap of the fiunger Mallory spun around and smiled.

"Of course we'll do it. However, we only have until today to work for you. Anything else past that limit is not our obligation, you understand?" the woman suavely spoke. The Breton appeared to be taken slightly aback.

"I-I see. Well, please hurry then! I was fortunate to run into friendly, capable people like yourselves. Many unsavory hirelings aren't exactly the most trustworthy and stable. There's no contract for this one, just go out there and see what you can do! Here's a list of the potential locations the thie-uh, my broker was kind enough to jot down."

Mallory gracefully accepted the small piece of parchment, which had hastily written, feminine text in black ink marked onto it. Looking over the list, Mallory then passed it on to her friends.

"One other thing. Uh, you see, my son is very headstrong. The boy left the house hours ago. I'm sure he hasn't gone far from Whiterun. If you see him, please try and return him here. I'll keep him grounded until you return. I want to properly bestow the blade upon him...it'll be sentimental." the Breton warmly confessed, his aged yet firm eyes becoming proud as a wrinkled smirk crept onto his face.

"No problem. We'll see if we can find him. What's he got so far in regards to weapons, though?" Zanevael responded, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his hand over in front of him as he spoke.

"A sturdy buckler and curved blade, I believe it was a steel falchion or so."

"What's his name and look?" Mallory cut in.

"His name is Allivan, and he's clad in light iron and hide. Hair color and eyes like mine, early in his manhood and average height."

"Did you see him leave the city?" Azhari asked the man. With a cold glance, he turned away his gaze and hesitated to respond.

"Er, no, well."

"Perhaps the man is still in the city?" the Khajit girl spoke, directing her speech to Mallory. Zanevael nodded his head, expressing very light surprise and acknowledgement at this possibility.

"How about Azhari and I stay in the city to search for Allivan for a short while?" the elf boy put forwards, stepping past the Breton and pointing backwards to the market with his thumb.

"Well how're we going to meet up? These places listed on the paper, they sound dangerous." Mallory admitted, appearing apprehensive. Wisp put her hand onto Mallory's shoulder and gave her a curious, stern look. Mallory and the exotic Orc exchanged nonverbal messages, and Mallory sighed and nodded at the taller woman.

"Stay here kids. I wouldn't want to put you into any more danger. Wisp and I can scout around, perhaps even run into Allivan and regroup with mister Glantor in the city." Mallory commanded, turning around and heading to the gates with Wisp. With the party split, the younger members exchanged a parting glance with the older women, and then went off to complete their task. Frijby grunted in accomplishment and then headed home, sauntering off the road with an anxious but happy gait.

Zanevael and Azhari entered the market square with a cautious but excited aura. Skyrim was known to be socially unkind to them due to their race, however in the synergy of the market all was purged in order for smooth trade to be accomplished. The chatter of merchants and buyers was a pleasant harmony to the two youth, and it was not long before Zanevael noticed the sign of the Apothecary. The Bannered Mare was appearing much more wealthy than it had been, and all form of merry noise and citizens was going in and out of the building's main entrance. The elf and beast-girl approached the shop and entered through it's fancy doors, enjoying the odd aroma of bitter, sweet, and sour potions and ingredients which wafted within the air.

Meanwhile, Mallory and Wisp were heading towards the Honningbrew Meadery, prepared to cross the Eastern bridge. From there, it would be a sneaky climb to the White River Watch bandit hide-out, which had been one of the many locations to be revived by the new age of brigands adopting the criminal life. With the constant faction combat occurring within Skyrim, especially after entirely new lords and groups had begun to bloodily defend their territories from bandits, the brigands were toughened and slimy individuals who could handle professional soldiers or life-long warriors with ease. Mallory and Wisp were not fully armored, however they would be light on their feet. The heavy steps of metal boots onto the cobbled road attracted the attention of a red fox, which pranced away from the two women as soon as they neared it. However the sound of the fox's natural breathing and the rushing stream of water down below gave way to clashes and clangs of metal upon metal, and the grunts of combat.

Mallory halted in front of Wisp, letting out an outstretched hand to pause the Orc's pace. In the distance was a trio of heavily armored, face-painted men wielding mighty weapons in combat with a lighter armored and panicking young man. A curved sword swirled in the air before striking down onto the shaft of a warhammer, and a buckler barely glanced off a deadly battle-axe swipe. The young man was armored in iron and hide, and appeared to be a Breton giving the keen sharpness or point to the tips of his ears. Before long, the bandits gleefully overwhelmed the young man and began to taunt as they ferociously swung their weapons towards the disheveled figure.

"My name is Allivan Glantor, and I shall return!" the young man furiously screamed, turning tail and swiftly escaping the bandits which were slow to the chase. Mallory and Wisp turned around and also headed towards the bridge, flagging down a Whiterun guard who raised his cross-bow at the two. The bandits were continuing their pursuit, hungry for blood.

"There's a scuffle up ahead! Bandits!" Mallory shouted to the guard, slapping her boots onto the stone bridge as fast as she could. Behind her was Wisp, who sprinted at a natural speed to overtake Mallory. Along came Allivan himself, who appeared to be sporting wounds and bruises on his displayed bare skin.

"I've got you covered, head back to the meadery and ask for asylum. I'll monitor the situation here." the Nordic guardsman commanded, his voice akin to that of an aged veteran of the battlefield. The bandits were wise enough not to directly assault a guard of Whiterun, lest they desire the full wrath of the garrisoned troops inside of the city. Meanwhile, Mallory and Wisp entered the meadery and hastened to catch their breath. Allivan then joined, and slammed the door shut.

"May I help you?!" the barkeep spat out, uncomfortably alarmed at the intrusive patrons. The man had long black hair, and quite a sinister appearance. The pale-skinned Imperial reached for a dagger, and leaned forwards onto the counter.

"The guard outside requests that you harbor us. Brigands on the road and such." Mallory panted. Mallus, the barkeep, nodded and began to prepare cups.

"I believe the guard will verify. Help yourself to some samples of our famous Blackbriar mead." Mallus replied, smirking as he poured out three cups worth of the dark alcohol. Allivan wiped some sweat from his brow and winced from an ache in his knee. He gladly accepted the cup and guzzled down the entire cup, shaking his head as the sweet alcohol went through his system.

"Thank the Gods you two women weren't a part of that brawl. Ugh, hopefully that guard's okay." he hoarsely spoke, glancing out to the doors. Allivan took a seat at the table at the corner, and sighed in relief when he sat his pained body down. The scraping of his armor and equipment was short-lived as Allivan comfortably relaxed within a moment into his chair. Mallory and wisp stood at the counter, politely refusing to drink the mead. Mallus went over to the kegs on the counter and tried not to appear interested in his patrons, however his curiosity and gaze gave him away. Wisp crossed her arms over her chest and leaned onto the counter, crossing one leg over the other and cocking her head down, her eyes locked onto Allivan. Mallory patted the counter and approached the tired young man, who had the slightest hint of a beard onto his face and a medium build similar to his father.

"Could you just so happen to be Allivan Glantor?" Mallory questioned, turning her head to the side and keeping her eyes onto Allivan. The man blinked once and had his mouth in a slightly ajar state.

"Yes I am, who's asking?" he responded with a hint of modest attitude.

"Someone who works for your father. The man wants you back to the city. I'm not sure if you know this or not, but he's got an official parting fit for you. My compatriots are I are going off to retrieve it once you're safely back in your home." Mallory smiled at the man, trying to give off an impression of cool control of the situation. Allivan wiped down his face with his palm and chuckled, looking up to Mallory with shiny eyes.

"I know exactly what it'll be, and I refuse to come." he bluntly stated. Mallory could not hide her shock, and gave the man an annoyed look. she leaned onto her palm, which she planted onto the surface of the table.

"Why not?"

"Why? Well...alright, listen up. My father was a well known sword collector. He's already willing to give me any number of blades I require for my new life. However, I don't want his junk collectibles and rare blades. Simply owning a prized sword does not mean you've completely accepted it as an extension of your own body! I want my own blade, one which I grow with and develop my skills. This sword, eh _Excellence_ or whatever its called, it means nothing to me aside from providing my first challenge."

"What'dya mean?"

"A quest! A trial! A rite of passage. If I can get that blasted sword back for my father, it'll prove that I don't need a fancy sword to make a name for myself. Also, I'm not letting any scummy thief steal from my father and soil our honor."

Allivan stood up and huffed out a hot breath, narrowing his eyes as he went to the window and scowled.

"I've heard stories of that damned cavern. It seems that all Jarls of the hold don't seem to pay much attention to it despite being only a fart away from it. These bandits pillage what they want, ensuring their own safety by excluding officials, noble travelers, and city guards."

"Sounds like a political issue."

"Aye, and that means its up to brave adventurers to solve this issue. I was trying to storm White River Watch, but these fearsome thugs they have stationed at the entrance are annoying."

Mallory and Wisp exchanged looks, and then the two headed to the doorway and opened it. Outside was the city guard from before, consulting another as he pointed out to the bridge and road past it. The two helmeted figures then looked over to the meadery's open doors, and one began to walk over.

"Right, all should be fine now. For your own safety, avoid that road and try to go around the city. There's another watchtower there, and a trustworthy patrol. Those damned brigands at the mountain are becoming bolder. To chase down you folks, I'm sorry that we can't assemble a large enough force to drive them out." the tall guard admitted, shaking his head and resting his hand onto the hilt of his sheathed blade. The other guard had drawn his crossbow and was standing sentry at the bridge now, on the look-out for any roguish visitors.

"It's no issue. We're heading there anyways, aren't we Allivan?" Mallory suavely announced, closing the lids to her eyes half-way and glancing over to the wounded young man. He appeared startled, disbelieving of the woman. It was then that he saw Wisp, at her full height, approach Mallory and exit the meadery. The other woman did the same, displaying their scabbards proudly.

"What? You can't be serious!" the guard laughed, his accent heavy and tone of voice sounding amused. However, he began to worry when Allivan joined the two woman and the trio began to head over to the bridge.

"This is foolishness! You'll just become prey to those savages." the guard warned. Mallus, having witnessed it all, was also regarding the group as suicidal. Even he did not wish to strike any deals with the bandits at White River Watch, that cruel gang was not good for business at all, not even as dumb muscle. Surely he would not be seeing those three again.

The guard returned to his patrol, shaking his head as he distanced himself from the meadery. Over by the bridge, the crossbowman simply stared in silence when Mallory and the others passed by him.

"H-halt! What're you doing? Who knows if they're still there?!" the guard stammered out, his voice getting firmer as he spoke. Eventually he began to follow the group, badgering them with warnings.

"There's only one way to find out. Keep yourself safe." Allivan replied, refusing to turn back. The guard paused, then continued to follow the trio. Wisp was confused, but accepted the fourth addition to the team. Mallory and Allivan were not so quick however to accept.

"Seriously, we can handle ourselves. no use putting any more lives in danger!" Allivan snorted out. The guard, taller than the Breton, continued forwards with his eyes facing front.

"I'll cover your rears from afar. If things turn South, you'll have a good chance of escaping. However if I don't hear or see anything from you three after fifteen minutes, I'm returning to my post. Gods be with you." the guard declared, halting at the footpath leading up to the cavern. Small, dried drops of blood could be seen around the general area, as well as noticeable scuffs, scrapes, and marks in the stone and earth. Pleasantly surprised and gracious, the trio nodded to the guard and unsheathed their weapons. Night was falling quickly now, and the darkened sky only reminded the group of the dangers of the cavern, which was as unknown and unpredictable as the starry skies above. Aiming his crossbow and crouching low, the guard followed the group up to a certain up in the path. From there, he took cover behind a rock and some brush, holding his crossbow with a natural grip.

The steep became more inclined, and the trio were cautiously sneaking their way upwards with weapons brandished. The scent of a campfire could be detected, as well as the chattering of a few lively people. Believing themselves hidden, the trio quietly crept to the thickest brush and largest stones, peeking over their cover to scan for any sentries. The sun's light was very faint now, and helped the hushed scouts as they slithered from cover to cover. Then, the audible sound of an arrow being notched heard. Mallory shot her head over to her back, and was only inches away from a Bosmer woman wielding an elven bow, a steel arrow aimed right at the Imperial's left eye.

"Get up. Now!" the short but well-built Bosmer screeched. She was thin, olive-skinned, had short orange hair fashioned to be swept to one side of her face, and possessed blood-red eyes and white red-paint. Armored in scaled and iron, the woman was in her mid-twenties and attractive but still very rough in appearance. The rustle of metal against metal and blades being drawn then rang out in the air. A Nord man in armored in a hybrid cross of banded-iron and scaled plate stepped down to the group, an orcish battle-axe in hand. His skin was dirty, his brows thick, and his face scraggly with red facial hair. A mohawk of tendril-like hair was observed on his head, he had on purple face-paint, and his dark-blue eyes gleamed as they glared at Allivan and Wisp. With a nasty undertone to his gruff voice the middle-aged brigand chuckled and menacingly spoke,

"Good job Jaena. Managed to bag us some ripe picks...and some unsettled business."


End file.
